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Updated: June 12, 2025
They thought Holliday had blinded him; had closed both his eyes so that he could not see at all, did they? Well, he could! Oh, he was foolin' 'em. Champion! Once he'd looked that word up in a dictionary, just after he whipped Fanchette; looked it up a little sheepishly, though he was alone at the time. Champion: One who by beating all rivals has obtained an acknowledged supremacy.
It seems he proved himself with a stick your superior, although armed with a sword, and Master Dalboy will tell you that it is better to leave him alone." Master Dalboy was standing by, and going up to Sir Richard, he said: "Sir, if you will take my poor advice you will go your way, and leave Master Holliday to himself.
"Now listen to me: I shall not say it again. From now on Arthur Holliday is not to come inside this place until my father is well again. Is that quite clear?" An odd mutinous gleam came into her eyes. "Must I remind you that I am at liberty to do as I like in my own house?" she said monotonously. "I don't think I have made myself clear, Thérèse.
Shortly after 7 a.m., with my entire staff, I rode along a portion of our front, and when in the open field before Appler's regiment, the enemy's pickets opened a brisk fire upon my party, killing my orderly, Thomas D. Holliday, of Company H, Second Illinois Cavalry.
Holliday when he was getting on in years, and then he was as quiet and as respectable a gentleman as ever I met with. Well, one September, as I told you, young Arthur comes to Doncaster, having decided all of a sudden, in his hare-brained way, that he would go to the races.
While we think of it, then, let us put down our first memorandum upon the art of Mr. Holliday: First Memo Mr. Holliday's stuff is distilled from life! It is not said why our hero abandoned bristol board and india ink, and it is no duty of this inquirendo to offer surmise. This vault into the petals of the sunflower seems so quaint that I once attempted to find out from Mr.
He tottered on his trembling legs to the door, and was out before Mr. Ball had detected the motion. When the master saw his prey disappearing out of the door, he ran after him, but it happened curiously enough, in the excitement, that Bob Holliday, who sat behind the door, rose up, as if to look out, and stumbled against the door, thus pushing it shut, so that by the time Mr.
Where he says of the English who use colloquially phrases known to us only in great literature "There are primroses in their speech." And where he begins his "Memoirs of a Manuscript," "I was born in Indiana." Holliday conceals a high quality of literary art. Mr. Holliday was driven home from England and Police Constable Buckington by the war, which broke out while he was living in Chelsea.
There he lived for another six years, and was then killed in a duel over a dispute at cards, having in that time managed to run through every penny that his wife had brought him, save that invested in the lands of the Chace. Dorothy Holliday then, at the Colonel's earnest invitation, returned to the Chace with her son Rupert, then five years old.
So that is what I am going to do when I get back this evening." There was a choking sound, as if Holliday were in danger of being sick. A chair scraped on the floor; there was the clink of glass. "Here, pull yourself together; this will fix you. Sit there.... I did not know you were so sensitive." A gulp, followed by another shuddering sound. Then, weakly, with a sort of loathing, "I don't know.
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